


Moth Meets Flame, Meets Sun

by Maesonry



Series: Entity Reader [3]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Drama, Entity Reader AU, Gen, Mystery, POV Second Person, Suspense, Thriller, You Can Order These Hands ™ For One Easy Payment of $Try.Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 19:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: You hate. It is the only way you can describe the feeling. It is not bitter resentment, it is not curdling distaste, it is not even a flicker of fear. It is hatred. This man you see, the one with the terrible grin, the one you know as Freddy Krueger...You hate.





	Moth Meets Flame, Meets Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Been throwing this around for a while, decided to do a little fun ‘grr I do not like Freddy’ piece. Because I don’t. Burnt chicken nugget
> 
> No prior knowledge needed of Entity Reader AU, but it helps

Hate is rare. 

Dislike is not common, but you do occasionally feel it. It is over trivial matters, things you cannot or will not change. The dislike passes, and you continue, unchanging. Sometimes, there is also a sort of disdain, but it is uncommon, and it too passes uneventful. And rarely, you hate. Not never. It had been never, up until this point. But, now...

You hate. It is the only way you can describe the feeling. It is not bitter resentment, it is not curdling distaste, it is not even a flicker of fear. It is hatred.

You click your jaw. Hundreds of arms rise up behind you, rubbing against one another, creaking and groaning with your distaste, your agitation. The crows around you flutter, voicing what you will not, screaming wordlessly in a way that reminds you of your first Hunger.

And at the mention of Hunger, your insides twist, as if fighting against you. Upset in both senses now, you focus, past the swirling clouds of terror and fear. Fear, you cannot eat, and terror is as close to despair as you can find, and despair is revulsion to you. And still, you look past them, as if they were not there. You look into the small room, a sort of boiler room, and you see a man, plain as day. Strange sweater, false smile, a sort of laugh in his chest that made more crows perch on your arms to peer down. You tilt your head carefully, until you see the source of the despair, on the floor, a boy–

The hatred flares. The image dissolves. In your realm, thousands of screaming voices, a chaotic symphony, and the darkness is tinted red. Hundreds of arms extend outwards, piercing through nothingness, and there is the hatred, embedded deep inside you. 

Far and away, in the Trials, with the Survivors and Killers, you know they must sense it. They must see the red sky, with the screaming, the rage. They cannot miss it. 

And just like that, it disappears. A flock of crows flutters into your vision, and you watch calmly as the building with the man inside burns down, the victorious parents comforting the children. And, to your curious surprise, hope has already begun to return to the children. You lean back. You wonder, briefly, who the man was. The name Krueger pushes itself to the front of your attention, and you examine it, perplexed.

Killers do not die. They wither and fade, but never die, live on in legends and stories, or actions and words. This man is not dead yet. You gently release the crow in your hands, watching it fly to the crowd, to the burning building, watching from a tree. This man is not dead yet, and your stomach grows bitter. If he is to return, then you will find him. There is too much at stake to let him destroy the hope you have cultivated. 

Hatred smolders gently in your mind, and you watch. 

 

Time passes. You are watching your Survivors, idle, detached, when it happens. Your little crow calls out, whispering, murmuring.

He is back, your eyes say. You blink, see what they see, and find yourself...

Not surprised. You expected this. Perhaps annoyed is the word. 

You watch. The man, Krueger, chases a boy. No longer a boy, though, this child is grown, his face full from the scrawny child you remember. He still has the same eyes, though. The same defiance. To the burnt husk of a school, he is dogged and chased, and you watch in growing discomfort.

You pin your feelings down, examining them. Hatred. Good to see you. You turn your attention back, with the hatred burning away, the crows chittering noisily behind you.

Through the halls. The boy is clever, but not enough, and the man, Krueger, takes his time. It is a game to him, like many Killers of the past, but the knowledge does not soothe you in any way. A trap is laid, and flames erupt, and both escape to the basement– yes, you realize, the same basement as earlier. 

Like the fires that now consume the burnt school, you feel the anger again. An uncomfortable feeling, which you try to keep at bay as best you can. Observe, you must observe. But, it is hard to observe through the mists of fear, or hear anything as your crows screech, and your arms rumble–

Krueger raises a claw. The boy, with all of his might, all of his being, calls out with pure hate for the man. 

You snap forward, then forward again, and it is dangerous to appear so suddenly, to break through barriers like paper, but–

Hatred is rare. You have never indulged it, so you let yourself.

Time slows. It may have stopped, but you do not know. What you do know is that you must deal with this man. He is a Killer, but he is wasteful, and for some reason he makes your nonexistent stomach curl. He must be dealt with. You cannot kill him, but you can contain him. You can take him. Your solution is inelegant, but like many things, you push past it. The hope you need is more important than sacrifices you make. 

Your presence envelopes the man. You know he realizes this, because he stiffens, shivers, the feeling of old and power suffocating anything else. You are the eternity, the known and unknowable, life and death, and with an echoing groan of metal crushing metal, wooden beams flexing and creaking, Krueger is gone. 

It is an unfortunate truth that the boy is gone too. You are careful with him, curling tendrils of fog into his vision, until he is deposited with the others. The other Survivors. It is cruel of you, to have taken him, but you have no choice. Only he has the strength, you know, to fight and fight the man you contained. It was not his duty before, but it is now. He is no longer the boy, trapped in the boiler room, consumed by despair. He is strength.

You hope it is enough.

Back in the void, you feel yourself crumble. You have acted suddenly, and now you pay the price. The impending feeling of terror and fear weighs on your mind, that Something is coming, and momentarily, you shiver.

You are the Entity, you remind yourself.

And yet, you are afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> I watch this guy play DbD and Freddy is a stinky little boy in there. Smelly boy. I want to throw him down a well


End file.
